Next morning, according to his promise, Peter woke Ibrahim and greeted him as lieutenant-captain of the Preobrajensky regiment, in which he himself was captain. The courtiers flocked round Ibrahim, each one in his own way trying to welcome the new favourite.
The haughty Prince Menshikoff gave him a friendly grasp of the hand. Sheremetieff inquired after his own Parisian friend, and Golovin asked him to dinner. Others followed his example, so that Ibrahim received invitations for at least a whole month.
His life was now passed in regular but active occupation; consequently he was not dull. Prom day to day he became more attached to the Tsar, and grew better able to appreciate his lofty character. The thoughts of a great man are a most interesting study. Ibrahim saw Peter in the Senate debating with Buturlin and Dolgoruki, discussing important questions in the Admiralty, fostering the Russian navy,—in his leisure, with Theophan, Gavril, Bujinski, and Kopievitch, examining translations from foreign publications, or visiting a factory, an artizan's workshop, or the study of some learned man. Russia became to Ibrahim one vast workshop, where machinery alone moved, where each workman under ordered rules is occupied with his own task.
He felt that he too must work at his own bench, and tried to regret as little as possible the amusements of his Parisian life. But if was hander to forget a dearer memory. Often he thought of Countess L., her just indignation, her tears, and grief. At times a terrible thought oppressed him: the distractions of society: new ties: another favourite. He shuddered; jealousy began to rage in his African blood, and burning tears were ready to flow down his swarthy face.
One morning he was sitting in his study amid official documents, when he heard himself loudly greeted in French. Turning quickly round he was embraced with joyous exclamations by young Korsakoff, whom he had left in Paris in the whirl of the great world.
"I have only just arrived," said Korsakoff "and came straight to you. All our Parisian friends desire to be remembered to you, and regret your absence. The Countess L. requested me to invite you without fail, and here is her letter for you."
Ibrahim seized it eagerly, and was looking at the familiar writing on the envelope, scarcely believing his own eyes.
"How glad I am," added Korsakoff, "that you have not been bored to death in this barbarous Petersburg. How do they manage here? What do they do? Who is your tailor? Have they started an opera?"
Ibrahim absently replied that the Tsar was probably at that moment at work in the shipping dock.
Korsakoff laughed.